


Coming In On A Wing And A Prayer

by foxfireflamequeen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:11:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my MCU tumblr minific dump. Each chapter should be a self-contained, complete fic. Stories will be tagged as necessary. Individual chapter pairings, warnings, and ratings will be posted within chapter notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming In On A Wing And A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> **Bucky Barnes/Howard Stark, WWII.** Originally posted [here](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/post/140838407788/x-n-s-h).  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Warnings:** Major Character Death

They’re both talkers.

Howard talks constantly. He can’t help it, especially not when there’s a problem in sight, when the physics of the flying car are perfect but it still _won’t work_. Barnes talks and talks when Rogers is in sight, spins wild tales of before-you-showed-up-in-your-star-spangled-tights until Rogers is green with envy and laughing too hard to notice the bruises shadowing Barnes’ eyes. Barnes listens to Howard complain nonstop about circuitry and asks question after question, and Howard has never had a more eager student.

They talk in bed, too. Low and filthy in each other’s ears as he pushes back against Barnes. “That all you got, Sergeant?” he pants, and Barnes snaps his hips forward and says, “How about I just stay here, not move, and you can finish yourself off, hm? How’s that sound?” Howard bares his teeth, but that’s all he can do because his pants are hobbling his knees and his shirt is knotted around his arms and fuck him, but he loves it. He loves these things he didn’t even know he liked until Barnes came along and pinned him to the wobbly desk in his makeshift workshop, told him not to touch and knotted thin copper wires around Howard’s wrists when he didn’t listen, too busy rambling “More, c’mon, _faster_ ,” to see the way Barnes flinched when Howard’s hands got too close to his face.

(It’s fun. It’s _new_. No one’s ever made Howard listen before.)

They both talk a lot, to others, to each other. They talk about everything.

Barnes says, “Morning, Howie,” as they pass each other in the mess and doesn’t say, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Howard wriggles around under him and says, “Are you done yet? Go on, get out, or Rogers will come looking for you,” instead of, “Stay tonight.”

Barnes barges into his workshop and says, “I figured out what’s wrong with your machine, and it’s the math, Stark, you fucked up the math,” instead of, “Everything’s too loud and I need a place to hide.”

Howard tips his glass back, hiccups, “You glad you never have to bring a nice girl home?” instead of, “My dad was an asshole; was yours too?”

Barnes laughs at him, warm and fond. “Sure, Howie,” he says, instead of, “I’m never going home.”

They talk about everything, and they talk about nothing, and Howard is fucked a little deeper each time Barnes licks the whiskey off his lips because it’s true; this beautiful, perfect asshole is living on borrowed time, and Howard will never be able to parade him in front of his asshole father to piss him off.

Sometimes, Howard wishes he wasn’t such a talker. Maybe then he could have said, “Bucky, _sleep_ ,” instead of “Goodnight, Sergeant,” and held James Barnes through a night before he went off one day and never came home.


End file.
